I Love Cats I Don't Live With

So You Think You Can Bore Me

I never thought I would have done it, but I moved So You Think You Can Dance to the bottom of my Tivo Season Pass List, which means it'll only get recorded if nothing else is on. (This is totally my first step to deleting you all together, SYTYCD. Time to step up.)

Is anyone else kind of over it this season? I kind of don't care about the show right now... it's almost like work to watch the shows that backed up on the Tivo in the past few weeks. There's a few things I can attribute to my apathy.

1. Dancer Hype. They have been touting the dancers of Season 6 as THE BEST dancers ever, and frankly, I'm not seeing it. Once Billy Bell left (before the first episode!), I couldn't see anyone that could hold a candle to Katee and Joshua from season 4, or Travis, or Brandon from last year. I feel cheated.

2. Choreographer Burn-Out, or Where the Hell Is Mia? Mia Michaels left the show in rather abrupt fashion, and the dances from the remaining choreographers seem a little...tired. Wade and Travis are still good, but Stacey Tookey's last dance (that I saw) looked like a pale re-make of Travis' heart dance from last season, Sonya is just being Sonya, that woman with the headphones just annoys the heck outta me, and no one likes the Quick-Step. Do I just not know enough about dance to notice when something is plain but technically brilliant? Or do I just not care? This sort of leads me into the last category...

3. Too Soon!! Beginning Season 6 on the heels of Season 5, with overlapping auditions certainly seems to have worn out the judges, and it is apparently beginning to wear on me. I can't tell if So You Think You Can Dance is a show I love in the summer simply because nothing else is on, or if I'm just tired of eating the same meal every night, so to speak. I believe it's a mix of both... my expectations of summer programming are much lower in than fall (it's the difference between watching Merlin and FlashForward, or eating Hamburger Helper vs Filet Mignon- hungry? yes. I am.). I expect repeats, trashy reality tv, and throw-away series that the network decides to give a modest chance. In the fall, I expect new episodes of favorite shows, creative shows with teams of clever writers, and the shows the networks feel are their best bet for a hit. So You Think You Can Dance falls into the mindless summer trashy reality for me.

As for eating the same meal every night...it's too much!! SYTYCD has a run time of 3 hours per week, if you add in the results show. With scores of new programming on each network, devoting 3 hours of my time to one show EACH WEEK is excessive, and has been putting the show last on my tv "to do" list (yes, I actually have one).

Anyone else feel the same?

Time to Celebrate!

Today is World Toilet Day!! It sounds funnier than it is. It's actually a day to bring awareness to sanitation problems in Third World countries, blah blah blah.

However, I think we should celebrate our porcelain thrones the American way... binge drinking.

PS... this is the scariest toilet I have ever seen. I would hold it.

GUESS WHERE I'M GOING TOMORROW?!?!

EEEEEEEEE!!! I'm so excited. Storytime! Ahhh London... a place of mystery, a place of wonder, a place where you can STILL see Cats.

Which we did. And then bought the soundtrack on tape. And played it in our room all the time. One particularly giddy night, BFF and I were skipping down the hall of our dorm singing Jellicle Cats. I wish we could say we were drunk or high, but we sure weren't. Just made of awesome.

Our dorm was weird, and had 2 steps up in the middle of the hallway, then 2 steps down about 20 feet away for no reason. As BFF and I tried to skip up the steps, I made it and kept dancing down the hall. BFF... didn't. I turned, because she was no longer by me, and watched in horror as BFF pinballed down the hallway: hitting one wall, and then, desperately trying to right herself, caroming off the other, only to fall in great somersaulting fashion.

I swear TO THIS DAY it happened in slow motion. BFF's eyes never left mine; her face horrified and her head shaking as if to say, "There's no way I can get out of this one." I did nothing to help her... I was too far away. And laughing WAY too hard.

Moral of the story? Never dance down the hall in your shower shoes.

Don't feel too bad for BFF. Later that night, during our only round of blood-sport Frisbee with our friend Gabe, I took a frisbee to the face (I'm not... coordinated). I also fell off the 3 foot garden wall as I was trying to make a super-sweet jump to get the frisbee that had fallen over the side. Didn't quite stick the landing.

News Flash: You're Old.

Seriously. Who watches wrestling? Who watches old dudes wrestling? There's apparently some people that think this fight was real, but I call shenanigans, as Hulk Hogan (age 56) and Ric Flair (age 60... 60!!!! THAT'S MY DAD'S AGE) have wrestled before...in 1994... and apparently Ric Flair is coming out of retirement. How do I know all this, do you ask? No. I don't watch wrestling. Wikipedia, my friends!

Hazards of Body Piercings.

Ha ha this picture. We never met that guy before! And yet he was so willing to pose with us for stupid photos. Also... these are the same overalls I was wearing as the last picture... different day. That may even be the same shirt.

Anyway:

BFF never really willingly does embarrassingly stupid things. She leaves that to me. Most of the stories I find hilarious about BFF are things that happen TO her... such as the time (Freshman year, yet again! man... good times) she got her eyebrow pierced.

Getting the piercing was never really the issue. Like any rebellious 18 year old, it was almost her duty to get it (as were the tattoos we got the next year). The real story begins when it became noticeably infected... like dark red streaks running down her face infected.

Let me explain a little bit about BFF. She's very precise, very organized, and very detail-oriented (sidebar: it's very helpful for those with a scattered brain to have someone like this in your life.). You give her directions, she. will. follow. them. So when BFF got directions from Iron Age about keeping her piercing clean and infection-free... you better believe that she followed them TO THE LETTER. Still, despite twice daily cleanings, turnings, and all that other crap you have to do with metal in your face, BFF's eyebrow got super-duper infected.

We've discussed the annoyance of the gift of sight on this blog before. Let me give you, verbatim, the conversation that BFF had with every single person that looked at her:

"Ooh... what happened there?"

"My piercing got infected."

"Hmm... looks like it really hurts!"

"Well, it sure doesn't feel great..."

"Have you been washing it?"

"...yeah."

This happened for about 4 days, until one cold fall day, BFF had enough. Coming into the cafeteria from a late class (Remember late classes? Remember cafeterias? Ours had a make-your-own waffle bar. Delicious.), the conversation with someone at our table started out the normal way:

"Ooh, what happened there?"

"My piercing got infected."

"Hmm... Looks like it really hurts!"

"It doesn't feel great..."

"Have you been washing it?"

Let me interject here with another note about BFF. It takes a long time, but when BFF snaps, it's not pretty. Unless you aren't the person she snaps on. Then it's fucking hilarious.

"NO! I'VE BEEN PISSING ON MY HANDS AND RUBBING IT IN!" *Smacks caf table really fucking hard then walks away*

Honestly, one of the funniest things I've ever heard her say.

The Secret Life of Stormtroopers.

This guy Stefan, who I think is in France, at least, there's a lot of french in the background, (who should become my French sci-fi watching bestie) is following his Stormtroopers around for a year.

Some of my favorites are below (I really love them all)- take a look at the whole series here.

Duct Tape Is NOT Your Friend, or, How I Learned I'll ALWAYS Need a Bra.

Man, I clung to those overalls for a looong time. Today's stroll down BFF Memory Lane takes us about a month into our freshman year.

BFF and I went to Webster University... a teeny tiny fine arts school that housed about 800 students when we attended. Since the school was so tiny, and perhaps because of the desire of the population to re-live a happier high school existence (freaks & geeks unite!), Webster had sock hops and dances about twice a quarter. They always had themes... Halloween, Christmas, and, in this particular instance, the Pajama Jammy Jam. It was our first dance, and in a fit of determination to fix my self confidence (well, and try to get laid), I picked up a little "sum'n sexxxy" for the dance on our monthly snack stock-up trip (juice boxes, ramen, and Nutter Butters- staples of college life) to the Kmart with Miles. Awwww yeah.

I picked out a plum-colored satin nighty... longish, not too revealing, just enough to get that "gee, I'd like to tap that" thought in some gentlemen's heads. At least, that's what it looked like on the rack. Remember... this is the '90s, heyday of the "slipdress" (thanks for that one, Princess Di!).

Most of you that read this blog have known me for quite a while, or at least have seen me at some point in your lives. I'm pretty sure you all realized that nothing I'm sporting in the "chestal region" is a recent development. I realized in the store getting a thin-strapped satin nighty was a risky maneuver. But me, I've thought ahead. I'm prepared. I was the recent recipient of a very early viral email (what would later be credited as a cautionary tale) about how to keep the "girls" in check. I drag BFF into the Home Supplies aisle.

BFF: "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Birv: "Pshhhht YES. I mean... you could see it in the picture, but only because her dress was so low-cut. I'm not THAT slutty."

BFF: "How will you keep it from tearing your skin off?"

Birv: "Well... masking tape isn't as sticky as the other stuff. I'll use that by my skin, you know, like volleyball players do (!), and then the duct tape over that to keep them from bouncing around. It'll work, trust me! (The famous last words of anyone embarking on a stupid endeavor.)"

BFF: "Oooookaaay..."

We hustle back to the dorm rooms to get ready for our very first dance. BFF is ready quickly, adorably in a set of cotton jammies. Time for her to help Sultry Susie Birv get ready. The viral email doesn't really show how much tape was used to replace a bra, or how it was put on. Plus, that girl doesn't have tits the size of watermelons to deal with. I decide one strip for "Nip THO Prevention" and cleavage enhancement won't be enough. Best to wrap the whole kit & kaboodle (kabooble?) up, boob tube style, for good measure.

I employ a dubious (and remarkably gracious) BFF to start at my back and start wrapping like a mummy with the masking tape, while I hold the girls in place. We're standing in the middle of my dorm, hoping to god that my roommate doesn't walk in, as this would just take WAY too much explaining. After some awkward moments in which we try to figure out the nipple situation-I end up just taking care of that area myself (To this date, I have never seen BFF's goods. She insists she's seen far too much of mine.)- the masking tape layer is on. It's taken up the entire roll, which doesn't fill me with self-confidence and poise. In fact, it's pretty sweaty, and isn't exactly forming to my body like I envisioned it would; it's lumpy as hell and poking me in the arms when I try to put them at my sides.

Never one to do stupid things in a half-assed manner, I press on. So what if sweat is pooling in my cleavage, as well as dripping down my back? This kind of strapless bra beauty comes at a price. Once the duct tape is on, smoothing everything out- I'll look vixenish and gorgeous. A red-headed Marilyn (hah!). I make BFF start with the mummy wrap one more time.

Laughing the whole time, BFF finishes the job. It's getting hot in my room, and with two rolls of tape on my chest, it's pretty hard to inhale. I have no idea how anyone in their right mind would willingly wear a corset. But still...I'm gonna look friggin' sweet at that dance. I may not be able to sit down or bend over except at right angles (that much tape is actually pretty rigid), and the breathing thing may make it really hard to, you know, actually dance, but still. Who cares? I'm going to meet someone cute! I just know it! (All right, I'll be honest, what was going through my mind is "Tyson will finally notice me! Tyson will finally notice me!" Ahhh.... crushes)

An hour later, I'm ready for the actual nighty. I need assistance getting it on, as I can't lift my arms above my shoulders without serious threat of ripping off my nips (turns out masking tape is stickier than one would think), so BFF helps out. It barely fits over my homemade strapless bra. Never accounted for adding what must have been an inch of tape to my bustline.

It's totally not working. the duct tape only makes the peaks and points of the rest of the tape more prominent, the sweat dripping down my back to my ass is making a spot on my dress the size of Lake Michigan, and now every time I breathe, you can hear a weird crackling noise as the dress rubs across the tape.

BFF is trying to be loyal, and not laugh her ass off. She's failing miserably. I'm trying to convince myself that it is acceptable to go in public looking (and sounding) like an HVAC unit. I am also failing miserably. I finally decide (as sweat begins to work it's way out of my cleavage and I look more and more like a linebacker after a July practice in Florida) to give up on the taping and wear a bra and a sweater. So much for sex kitten appeal. I try to take the tape off.

This proves more difficult than it seems. My body heat has fused the glue of all the tape together. BFF runs to her room, and comes back, sniggering, with a giant pair of scissors (BFF is always prepared), and cuts through what basically adds up to a full torso cast.

Remember how I said I couldn't raise my arms without serious damage? This is nothing, NOTHING compared to trying to pull 80 layers of tape off my boobs. Guess what? That skin is pretty sensitive. And has apparently absorbed the first layer of tape like a she-wolf adopts a foundling boy. IT WILL NOT LET GO.

BFF is now crying laughing, unable to stand. She's now content to watch me suffer in pulling my modern body armor off while lounging in comfort in her Sailor Moon jammies on my bed. I finally get the tape off 1/2 an hour later, and we head to the dance in defeat- my hair 6 inches bigger in a poof of sweaty humidity from my frenzied fight with the tape demons.

Imeet no one (or have anyone notice me) at the party. Probably pretty lucky in that- I have red marks on my boobs for a full week after, and I look like a leper.

Just for shiggles... the viral email that prompted this is below. Enjoy.

I Want to Give You a Hug, Young One!

I'm not sure it's possible for me to love Glee anymore without exploding. Then I read this. Apparently, last week's diva-off was inspired by real events. According to New York Magazine, Chris Colfer, who plays Kurt (totally would have been my BFF in high school), would petition yearly to sing "Defying Gravity" in school:

"Every year in high school, we’d have this talent show, and every year I’d beg to sing “Defying Gravity” and every year they turned me down because I was a boy and they said it was a girl’s song; and every year I protested, saying that there are no lyrics that indicate gender specification whatsoever, but they’d still turn me down. And one day on set, Ryan Murphy told me he was coming up with a Kurt versus Rachel plotline, and for whatever reason, I started talking about this, and the next thing I know it was in the script. I think it’s a good story; the most terrifying thing was just actually getting to do “Defying Gravity” finally. I thought, Oh crap, I can’t mess this up!"

BOOM. (My head and my heart just exploded.)

This also made me realize how old I am. Colfer listened to Wicked religiously in high school (I love the idea that he may actually have an iPod Shuffle somewhere dedicated entirely to Wicked!), I saw the show well into my twenties. Sigh. Come here little one, I want to ruffle your adorable hair!

Boogedy Boooo....

I am a chronic commercial avoider, particularly now that the Christmas commercials are now starting to pop up like pot plants in a stoner kid's dorm room closet. I will start every show about 10 minutes in so that I can fast forward through them. However, I stop and watch this commercial every time it comes on. I can't stop laughing! From Peyton Manning's "Fix that. It's disgusting." to JT's "YOU'RE disgusting!"... I haven't been this tickled since Kitten Mittens.

BFF Request!!

If BFF asks for something, I do it. So when BFF asked for a Storytime Countdown until I visit for New Moon, I was only happy to oblige. We're pretty funny, so I think everyone will enjoy it. If not, well, too bad. It's my blog and I'll post what I want.

Sooooo.... Storytime! We'll start at the beginning- the day BFF and I first met.

Imagine a tender, innocent Birv (Well. More innocent than I am now, anyway. Shut up! Why are you laughing?), her parents just having left after moving her into the dorm. My college fantasy of giggle-filled, slumber party nights with a popular, bouncy ponytailed, cheerleader-type roommate to bring me out of my cynical shell had just been dashed when my roommate Nancy showed up to our room (toting only two laundry bags of clothes and full-size fridge, by the by), and I honestly thought she was her brother. "Oh hey, you must be with Nancy. Aren't you a nice brother to bring that fridge up here?" "I AM Nancy." "oh...." (Not sure where my fantasy came from, as I knew that my alma mater was a gay haven from the college visit. My hag training started EARLY). Anyway, after a brief introduction, Nancy went off- and I'm not making any sort of stereotype joke, I swear to god it's true- to her very first softball practice, and I was left in my room alone.

Webster has some decent dorms- rather than have communal showers in the halls, the rooms are set up suite-style, with two rooms to a bathroom. Not to get overly familiar, but you know how when you're traveling, you're digestion gets a little... off? Well. The time comes for me. I gotta go. I had seen the blonde girl next door moving in with her parents, but, being too shy to do any more than wave, I hadn't spoken to her yet. But her door to the bathroom is open.

Seriously? This is my introduction? Awesome. But... I GOTTA GO. So I can either slam the door in her face without any explanation, or I can tell her why I'm closing the door. My thought process? How bitchy is that girl that just shut the door for no reason?! So the first words I ever speak to BFF are these: "I'm really sorry, and I want to make sure that you know that it's not because I don't want to get to know you, but I'm closing your bathroom door. Because, well, I have to go poop." (Yes, I'm a master of the overshare.)

The reason I know BFF and I were meant to be BFF's? Her response: "I'm so glad you're the first to poop here, because I didn't want it to have to be me!"

A Letter to President Obama

Dear Mr. President,

I know you're really busy killing off the nation's grandmas with your devil managed healthcare, but I have to address a matter of greater importance to us both. Barack, your favorite restaurant and mine, The Dixie Kitchen & Bait Shop in Hyde Park, has been torn down. Now, I know they are still open in Evanston and Lansing. But frankly, Evanston for soul food? Really? Please. We both know that's not an option. Also- I don't even know where Lansing is.

I know the Dixie Kitchen means a lot to you, 'Rack (can I call you 'Rack?), since you went on Check, Please! and talked about it. You may have heard the Calypso Cafe next door bought the menu, but I ate there last night, and they're just ruining it. I know you love those Johnnie Cakes. I do too. THEY AREN'T THE SAME. Now they're just pancakes with cornmeal thrown in. No subtlety. I don't even want to try the peach cobbler. It probably has some sort of rum in it now. Stupid Caribbean food.

B.O. (hey, your initials are sort of funny. Did you get made fun of a lot for that? I get that. My initials are BJ, and boy, some of the things I heard! But I digress.), I'm sure you're pretty tied up turning into Hitler with your socialist agenda (which doesn't make sense to me, I mean sure, Nazi has the word 'socialist' in it, but I don't really think you're up for genoci... WHOA. The grannies. Now I see what they mean!). Anywho, since you're the big guy in Washington, I bet you have some pull now. I see this as a matter worthy of the National Guard.

B-Rock, feel free to leave your updates on your progress this matter in the comments. When it's open again, we can go there together to celebrate, and I'll buy you a pulled pork sandwich. Sound good?

Lots of love,

Birv

PS- I voted for you, so I think that I can call in that favor now.

And the Award for Most Insensitive Song Goes to...

Yes, that Mel C. From Spice Girls. This is an old song, but I am currently listening to the cd's BFF made following our semester in London a crazy long time ago and swimming in a salty sea of memories. Don't ask how long ago we were in London, that's not polite.

Storytime!! Imagine BFF and I, sitting in our dorm room, quietly doing homework (well... BFF doing homework, I was probably reading Harry Potter and ignoring a mounting deadline) with the radio on. Cue Mel C's If That Were Me. BFF and I continue to be silent, both pretending we're not listening as the song gets increasingly ridiculous. Finally, as Mel C sings the best line of the song, "Is it your hope that keeps you warm?", BFF shouts out "No, but a fucking BLANKET might!" and goes back to reading without a further sentence.

This is a snapshot into the love I have for BFF.

I Think She's Smuggling Heroin In There

Amy Before:

Amy After:

Also... GAH! Aside from the new Serena-Boobs (Gossip Girl reference... HEY-O! By the way... threesomes? 18 year olds? Is this the new college thing?)... the woman is made from cocaine-covered matchsticks.

Play It Like You Did Last Night!

Are you immune to the charms of BB Bunny? Must not be a hard core criminal.

HA! That's What You Get for Wearing That Scary-Ass Mask.

Y'all know how I feel about masks. I could barely stand to post this. But then...

Did She Just Pull an Ewok Out of Her Purse?

Oh, I think she did. That's right everyone, as I was at the Walgreens yesterday picking up toilet paper, what did I see in the aisle before me? Well.. Christmas decorations, but that's hardly the point. (Sidebar: can't we have Thanksgiving before we start rolling out the yard reindeer? PLEASE?) Anyway... I saw the Snuggie for Dogs. I think it's possibly the most ridiculous thing I've ever seen, but I have to say, it's probably the only thing that Daisy would ever wear. She frigging LOVES blankets. To have her very own? She'd look about as excited as that golden retriever does.

I sort of wish that they didn't pitch it as an alternative to the doggie sweater (props for the opening poem). I wish that they had the guts to say "Is your dog as lazy as you? (yes!) Do you both lay on the couch watching TV and reading all day? (Why...it's our idea of a perfect day!!) Let your dog waste away in the same comfort you do while you catch up back episodes of Eastwick and Ghost Whisperer!" Ok. That last part may be a little too targeted to me. But still. Better, no?

Buy my dog one here.

(Sidebar #2... is everyone as charmed as I am by the little dog falling asleep in its Snuggie? I could watch that all day! It looks so happy!)

Did You Miss Me?

I missed you guys. I could explain what happened to me for the last month, but it's a very sensitive subject involving alien abductions, zombie slave trades on the black market and pirates. I escaped, but barely.

Rest assured, the hiatus is over. Soon, you will be able to get your fill of tween gossip and Twilight news.